


blue like the california coast

by ImposterBeenFostered



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Lives, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Billy Hargrove, lol that means
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27851294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImposterBeenFostered/pseuds/ImposterBeenFostered
Summary: Steve grapples with his definitely-not-a-crush on Billy as they attempt to decorate a Christmas tree with six children.It really isn't going too well.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 107





	blue like the california coast

**Author's Note:**

> yo yo what's up! so, it seems every time i write something it has to come to me days before and invade every sense i have until i finish it. i've been very invested in these two for quite some time and i'm super pumped to have finally written something for them.
> 
> i really enjoyed writing this, so i hope you enjoy reading it.
> 
> song: fireworks - first aid kit 
> 
> i've also got a playlist for these two if that's your thing, you can find it [here](https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/steven-and-william/pl.u-8aAVe9lUogrgkmz) on apple music.

Steve followed a trail of pine needles up to the threshold of an already open door, where he stuck his head inside just in time to hear:

“Billy! You’re getting pine needles all over the floor!”

Straining to hold the fir tree straight, Billy ground out, “Yeah, I fucking know that,” while Max tightened the stand. Billy kept adjusting his hands, trying to keep the thing from sliding to the floor, raining pine needles down onto Max.

“Steve, get the hell out the way,” he heard just before Mike shoved past him and into the living room, followed by Eleven, Will, Lucas and Dustin, who paused to stand next to him.

“What’re you looking at, Steve?” Dustin asked with this infuriating, knowing grin. 

Steve blanched, “Nothing. Shut up.”

Clapping Steve on the shoulder, Dustin’s smile widened, “Sure thing,” he said before going over to assist Billy and the others as they held the tree straight.

As was accustomed, he had driven them over, seeing as Steve had become something of a personal chauffeur over the past five months for _all_ of them instead of just _some_ of them. They had insisted that they needed to help set up the Hargrove-Mayfield Christmas tree, as they were the only ones to get a real one this year. Of course, Steve was welcome to stay and help, seeing as it was his hard earned Family Video money that would get them there. 

He had _definitely_ not said yes simply because it was Billy’s tree they were decorating. He would've said yes no matter _whose_ tree it was.

“We could use your help over here, Harrington. And close the fucking door, it’s freezing.”

Steve’s eyes snapped over to Billy. Surprisingly, it wasn’t hard being civil with him. Strange, sure, but not hard. He supposed seeing him practically come back from the dead had made it a little easier to not hate him. 

It’s not like Steve really _liked_ him, though. No, Steve definitely did _not_ like Billy Hargrove. They were just… capable of cordial interaction, is all. Max hadn’t said much about Billy after Starcourt, but she had expressed a level of caring that hadn’t been there before. One memorable time, Lucas had briefly called him an asshole and Max had snapped, “Yeah, an asshole that saved your life, Sinclair,” and he wasn’t mentioned for the rest of the evening.

A few weeks after, Steve had visited him while he was in the hospital. He’d still been comatose, so it wasn't like, a party, or anything. He’d just gone with Max. 

He had only come the one time. Seeing Billy- who had stormed into Hawkins like a hurricane, lighting Steve’s nerves afire beneath his skin with his devil-may-care assholeishness- breathing out of a tube, sickly and pale, stuck with needles and covered in bandages made Steve feel ill. It was wrong. The world had been tipped on its axis and was telling Steve to _deal with it_ . But then again, when hadn’t it told him that? When, since the night he'd fought an actual monster in Jonathan Byers house, had the world not told Steve to _get over it_?

Steve had stood beside Max for a while, the cacophony of machinery in the room deafening and the sight of Billy’s chest, seeming to struggle with every automatic inhale, was like a dagger in Steve’s gut.

Steve had left when he realized he was late for his shift, feeling much more receptive to getting chewed out by Robin than having his heart carved out by Billy Hargrove.

When she asked, “Why so solemn, dingus?” Steve had told her about seeing Billy- how wrong it had been- to which she said:

“Don’t worry Steve, he’s alive, isn’t he? I bet he’ll be back to his mean old self in no time.”

And then she’d said, slightly more serious:

“Who knows, maybe it’ll be different this time.”

She’d been wrong. Mostly.

When Billy was released three months later, he _was_ different. He was still an ass, but he was quiet. Instead of a hurricane, his presence in Hawkins was more like a whirlpool. It didn’t really make sense to Steve, and when he’d told Robin and Dustin, they had laughed in his face, but it’s what Steve saw. Two opposing currents colliding with one another, unable to avoid each other and instead collapsing, pulling everything inside.

Max told the party that Billy’s car was gone (something that Steve felt inexplicably guilty about), that he couldn’t smoke, couldn’t rebuild his atrophied muscles, couldn’t do a lot of things. That he mostly kept to his room, reading and drinking and hiding away.

He had started driving Max around again, in his dad’s shitty pickup truck because it was too cold for her to skate. Something Neil made him do, Max said, but it was apparent that Billy didn’t mind much anymore. It became even more apparent that the two didn’t hate one another as much as they used to (maybe even not at all, anymore) when Max invited Billy to stay for D & D and he’d said yes.

That was when _it_ started.

Billy had worn a sweater with the hood pulled up over his head and his hands shoved deep into the pockets. He looked smaller, in every sense of the world, but Steve could still feel the hurricane.

Steve was so glad he could feel the hurricane.

The kids had sat around the table in Mike’s basement, shouting and arguing and running after haphazardly thrown dice and Steve sat on the floor, attempting to design his character for the next campaign.

Billy had sat next to him, leaning against the wall with his legs pulled loosely to his chest.

“Hey, Harrington,” he’d said, voice rough. 

“Hey, California,” Steve had said back, glancing over to him.

A few of Billy’s curls suck out from under the hoodie, bright against the dark material. They looked styled, instead of limply falling around his face like they were last time Steve had seen them. The sight sent an unexpected burst of nostalgia through Steve.

They didn’t talk much that night. Steve didn’t think much needed to be said. It felt apparent, unspoken, that he didn’t hate Billy anymore. How could he, after his display of martyrdom in the mall? Steve was sure he’d watched him die, sure he’d watched Billy Hargrove have his heart torn from his chest.

But he didn’t. It wasn’t. Steve felt like it was only fair to give him a second chance.

So, he did. Billy came around more often with Max. He had even come into Family Video two or three times and Robin had just _loved_ that.

_“Hey, Harrington? Ever seen_ Back to the Future _?”_

_“Oh, he’s seen it alright.”_

_“That so?”_

They would talk while the kids played, about dumb shit, mostly.They argued about music and movies, Billy complained about the weather often and Steve told him about dickhead customers at work. Steve had helped Billy create a character once Steve’s had been approved by the party and Steve had once, very briefly, told him about his disdain for the future.

They only rarely talked about Starcourt.

Billy apparently remembered everything. Steve had been filled in on what happened topside while he was busy with Russians, and it certainly wasn’t pretty. He told Steve a bit. Enough. He didn’t press; Billy looked extremely uncomfortable talking about it, so Steve let him say what he wanted, when he wanted.

But Steve had had to interject when Billy had told him about the things _he’d_ done. The people _he’d_ hurt. Because _he_ didn’t do any of that shit. Steve wasn’t sure Billy believed him, but it felt important to let him know. Just because he was an asshole didn’t mean he was a monster. And he really wasn't that much of an asshole these days.

That’s usually how it went, whenever Billy came along with Max. Talking and playing games like they’d been pals since day one.

It was so _weird_ . Steve didn’t know how else to describe it. It was weird then, after the hospital, that Steve had seen nothing but Billy lying, pale and small, when he'd closed his eyes for a week after. It was weird now, when he wanted to do nothing but push the perpetual hood away from Billy’s head and wrap those curls around his fingers. It was weird how often Steve felt the urge to wrap his arms around him and just thank him. Thank him for saving his friends. It was weird when he looked into Billy’s eyes and realized how fucking _blue_ they were, when the fire inside wasn't overwhelming, wasn't the focal point. It was weird how much his chest hurt, when Steve had told about sleeping with his lights on and Billy had simply furrowed his eyebrows and said, “Yeah.”

_It_ was weird, and had definitely not been there before.

Steve tried not to think about it, just appreciate it. Appreciate having another person around who understood. Who probably understood a little better than most of them.

But, in all the times they’d seen each other after Starcourt, Steve had never been inside Billy’s house. He stepped forward, swinging the door shut behind him, grumbling, “You've got six kids helping you already, and that tree is like, two feet taller than you. I think you’ll manage. And it's not _cold_ , Hargrove.”

It was ridiculous, how his heart pulled in his chest when Billy turned his eyes to him, sweat beading on his forehead, covered in pine needles.

Billy flashed him an easy smile, which sent the indignant shout of, “we’re not kids!” to the back of his mind, and Steve felt himself reciprocate. He kicked his shoes off before venturing over to the tree, now standing on its own, boughs tied tight.

Billy turned towards Max, who stood now, pulling pine needles from her hair. “Hey Max,” she looked towards him, ”you wanna get the scissors?”

“You can do it,” she replied with a glint in her eyes; not unlike the one Dustin has been shooting him lately.

“Get the scissors, Maxine,” Billy hissed urgently.

Max grinned maniacally. “Okay, William,”

Before he could do anything more than stutter out affronted curses, Max bounded off into the house, dragging Eleven behind her.

A warm kind of contentment flushed Steve as he set the tin full of chocolate and peppermint covered pretzels, prepared by himself and Dustin, on the coffee table. It was still quite novel to witness Billy and Max interact now. Like actual siblings. The perpetual anger and frustration was muted. Sucked into the whirlpool, maybe gone for good.

Billy cocked an eyebrow at Steve, smirking now, “The hell you smiling at, Pretty Boy?”

Steve’s face grew warm and he crossed his arms over his chest. “What are _you_ smiling at?”

_Smooth._

Billy scoffed, crossing his own arms. Max came around the corner, thrusting a pair of scissors into his hand before he could respond. Eleven followed after, carrying a boombox and a case covered in stickers which Steve figured held cassette tapes.

Max and Billy began to cut the twine, Mike, Will, Lucas and Dustin spread the branches out, managing to spray an innumerable amount of pine needles across the floor, Steve stood by Eleven and riffled through the tapes.

“No Christmas tapes,” Eleven muses.

Steve hummed in agreement as he shuffled over Metallica and Van Halen, “Not one.”

He turned around, “Hey, Hargrove, you don’t have _one_ Christmas tape?”

Billy scoffed again, glancing at Steve. “Why would I waste my cash on something I can only listen to once a year? Just flip it to the Christmas station if you really need to,” he cut the final bit of twine. The rest of the boughs sprung free, thwacking him in the face.

Steve grinned wide as Eleven stifled a laugh, flipping through the stations (with her _mind_ \- Steve wouldn’t never _not_ be blown away) before finally landing on the holiday one.

Steve popped open the tin of homemade candies and threw one in his mouth as he made his way across the floor, socked feet crunching over the pine needles littering the ground.

Billy was working to shake the branches out with the boys as Max drug a box over towards the tree. She flipped it open, revealing a collection of ornaments and lights. 

The early December sun had long since set, and the room was bathed in a warm glow from the flickering candles and lamps as they worked to wrap the tree in lights Max had grabbed.

Will balanced precariously on top of Mike’s shoulders to reach the top, earning a few shouts of, “Be _careful_ , shitheads!” from Steve, who kneeled on the floor, looking through the ornaments with Max and Eleven.

“Oh! This one’s pretty,” Eleven said, brandishing a bouquet of glass icicles.

Max grinned, “Wait till you see _this_ one,” holding a small framed picture.

Eleven looked over at the small frame, her eyes twinkling with delight as she reached for it. She smiled softly, glanced over at Billy, back to the frame and said, “This one goes up.”

Steve looked between the two girls and then over at Billy. He stood by Lucas, keeping the lights straight as Mike and Will cackled, barely staying upright. 

Steve recalled the evening Billy had apologized to Lucas. It was the same night he had apologized to Steve. 

They’d sat at this diner, having picked up the kids from school, sipping milkshakes and hiding from the cold. Billy has been across from Steve next to Max, Dustin in between Steve and Lucas. Max had muttered something to him, he whispered harshly back, received a cold, impatient stare from her before sighing, turning towards Steve and Lucas, and stating, “I’m sorry,” in a practiced tone.

Lucas had stared for a moment, looked at Dustin, who seemed vaguely uncomfortable and amused, before a kick sounded from under the table. Lucas let out a yelp and Max leveled a stern look at him.

Lucas shrugged. “Uh yeah, it’s cool, I guess.”

Steve looked to Billy, staring right into those bright, blue eyes. Billy had glanced away, stirring his chocolate milkshake. There was no need for Billy to apologize to him. Steve had forgiven him a long time ago. 

He thinks they all had, even Lucas.

“I’m sorry, too,” he’d said.

Steve looked back to see Billy staring straight at him, hands paused over the lights he’d been stringing, hood falling away from his face.

Steve was staring, he realized. _Dumbass._

He stood abruptly when he noticed Dustin’s smug expression, clapping his hands. “Alright, come on, guys! Lights should _not_ be this hard.”

Fuck, it was like the kid could read his mind. Especially when even Steve had no clue what he was thinking.

Steve came to stand beside Billy, probably a little too close, doing nothing more than touching the already perfect lights that he’d straightened. He figured he should probably take Robin’s words to heart. Do something he may have never gotten to do, if things had gone differently.

So, he brushed his hand lightly against Billy’s, startled slightly by how cold it was. Steve’s eyes flickering over towards him, seeing his furrowed eyebrows, his pursed lips. When Billy didn’t pull away immediately, Steve’s heart constricted.

They’d continued to string the lights along the tree, many arguments about absent branches making the simple task arduous. When they had finally managed to adorn the tree in multi colored and golden lights, they’d moved on to rifle within the box of ornaments .

Billy had ventured over to the table, picking up the small framed photo Max had set aside earlier. Steve peaked over his shoulder, examined the tiny photo of a boy and a woman stood on a beach, wrapped in light winter clothes, bright expressions on both their faces.

“Is that your mom?” Steve asked softly.

Billy nodded. “Yeah,” he whispered, voice rough.

He inhaled deeply before turning around. Billy held the ornament out to Steve. “Do you wanna put it up?”

Steve gaped at him.This felt… big. It felt like trust. Even though it was just a picture, the Billy who rocked him in the Byers’ house would certainly not ask Steve to hang it on his Christmas tree.

“Yeah,” Steve echoed.

Steve proudly hung it front and center on the tree, the kids bickered over where the other ones should go.

“Come on, Mike. You can’t put two red ones so close to each other! It looks weird.”

“That branch will _actually_ break if you put that there, dumbass.”

“Dude, that ugly-ass golf ball can't go right in front. Uh, sorry guys, but that one sucks. Put it on the back.”

“Oh my god, the star goes on last! Have you never done this before?”

“Guys! Shut the hell up, I love this song.”

Max leaped over to the stereo, cranking the volume up as _Last Christmas_ began on the station.

Billy groaned, “Come on, please. You’ve listened to this, like, a million times already.”

“Don’t be a downer,” Max exclaimed, gripping Eleven’s hand and twirling her around.

“Don’t worry, Billy,” laughed Eleven, “Jim hates this song, too.”

Eleven and Max continued to dance as George Michael crooned through the stereo, the boys singing along, abandoned the tree in favor of munching on the candy Steve brought.

“Yeah, that makes me feel a whole lot better,” Billy muttered, positioning a gold bauble at the bottom of the tree.

Steve grinned widely, reaching up to hang the last ornament from the box- a bulb with a sea bound boat painted on it- in the top of the tree.

Steve stepped back, admiring the near complete tree. Billy stepped back as well, standing aside him. Their shoulders brushed and Steve looked over to him.

The reflection of the glowing lights in Billy’s eyes was bright. They washed him in a light golden glow. Of course, Steve had eyes, he knew Billy was attractive. Believe him, he _knew_ , but he was downright beautiful, bathed in the peaceful light.

Billy turned to Steve, knocking his shoulder lightly against his. “What, Harrington?” Billy asked quietly.

“Steve.”

“What?”

“Call me Steve,” he said, reaching up slowly to finally, _finally_ , push the hood away from Billy’s head.

“You’ve got pine needles in your hair,” Steve said when Billy didn’t reply. He pulled a few out, throwing them to the ground.

With a deep, steeling breath, Steve gently wound the curl around his finger once he had plucked the needles from it, vaguely aware of the music still playing, the kids still bounding around.

Two years ago, he’d still been with Nancy. His parents hadn’t been around much and for some reason, the devastation of realizing they would probably not be home for the holidays has never lessened over the years. But at least he’d had her. At least he’d had anyone. One year ago, he didn’t even have her. He’d hung with Dustin and the others, sure, but he’d been so preoccupied with his misery that he’d failed to fully appreciate the moments shared with them.

This year, he didn’t want to think about his parents or college or monsters.

This year, he knew what he had. The kids, Robin. Shit, even Nancy and Jonathan.

Billy, too. Who was currently staring at Steve, eyes wide and lips part.

Steve cleared his throat abruptly, gently pulling his hand free from Billy’s hair. He looked away from those stunned eyes, huffing out a breath and muttering, “Sorry.”

Billy finally spoke then, “Oh, no it’s fine. Yeah, actually,” his eyebrows furrowed slightly and a stunned look crossed his face, “Actually, it’s totally fine.”

Their arms still brushed together gently. Steve gazed at the tree, unseeing for a moment, unable to move away and unaware of how to respond.

Billy knocked Steve’s shoulder again. “You do too, actually.”

“I, what?”

“Have pine needles in your hair.”

Steve laughed slightly, turning toward Billy just as he reached up and pulled a few needles from Steve’s hair.

They locked eyes for a moment. Steve didn’t realize his pounding heart until the room had grown quiet. He glanced over his shoulder when he didn’t hear the lyrics of _Last Christmas_ reverberating off the walls. He saw Eleven whisper something to Max, who covered a laugh with her hand and Dustin jammed his elbow into Mike’s ribs. He looked away from the box of decorations irritatedly until his eyes landed on Steve and Billy, drawing Lucas’ and Will’s eyes to them.

Steve turned back to the tree, shoulders high. “We should put the star on now, huh?”

Billy smirked, and it was so much like the very first one Steve had seen when Billy stormed into Hawkins and he felt that wave of nostalgia wash over him again.

“Yeah, why not?”

Billy turned away, and grabbed the small, bronze star from the table, the kids pretending to be preoccupied with something else.

Billy reached over, offering the star to Steve, who took it gently. Steve let out a huff. He wondered if Billy could read minds, too. If he knew Steve had decorated maybe three Christmas trees with his parents.

He reached up, jamming the star into the highest point of the tree he could find before stepping back.

“Oh my god, Steve!”

He whipped around, to see the exasperated faces of six kids staring back at him. Billy leaned on the wall, smiling with an odd glint in his eyes.

“What?”

“That is not centered at _all_ ,” Dustin shook his head.

The rest of them nodded and Billy pursed his lips in a poor attempt at concealed mirth. 

“Just like, a little to the left? There’s another branch,” Max said with an apologetic shrug.

“Holy shit,” he muttered exasperatedly, “Okay, calm the hell down.”

Steve turned back around and reached up yet again, shoving the star roughly on the branch a little to the right, managing to shake loose even more pine needles.

Will nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That looks good.”

Steve stepped to look at the tree from where the others stood, rolling his eyes at the branch that was maybe two inches away from where the star now sits.

It looked… really nice, honestly. The decorations were obviously sentimental; pictures and homemade ornaments and dated glass baubles. The few trees Steve can recall decorating were pristine, like that of a showroom. This tree, though, that he’d decorated with six kids who were some of his closest friends and Billy fucking Hargrove, was full of life.

Lucas clapped Mike and Will on the shoulders. “Nice job, guys,” he grinned.

Steve glanced at all of them, who stared in wonder at the fir tree. Max nodded, smiling softly. He followed her eyes to Billy, who looked back at her with an expression that said _the fuck are you looking at?_

She scoffed lightly, shaking her head as she leered, “Go get the broom,” before turning to jump on the sofa, where the others followed. Someone flicked the TV on (seemingly, without touching it), and flipped to a movie Steve had never seen before. It didn’t look very festive, as David Bowie seemed to be a prisoner of war, but the kids didn't seem too focused on the film.

Billy shook his own head, turning into another room before emerging with a broom and dustpan.

“Here,” he tossed the dustpan in the air, pausing, “Steve.”

Steve caught the dustpan swiftly, smiling gently.

“So what,” he said as Billy began sweeping the pine needles into a pile beside the tree, “I get to help you clean up the mess while they get to relax and eat _my_ candy?” 

“Well,” Billy inclined, “if you hadn’t thrown the star on like some basketball champion, half the mess wouldn’t be here.”

Steve huffed indignantly. “Oh yeah, it _couldn’t_ have been you trying to set it up. You know, fumbling the entire time and nearly sending it out the window.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Harrington,” Billy said with no real heat, “Come on, hold the fucking pan on the ground, already.”

Steve grinned and did just that.

“Steve,” he said as Billy brushed the needles into the pan.

Billy rolled his eyes. “Steve,” he muttered.

Steve picked up the pan when Billy shooed him away, opening the front door and dumping it out into the cold evening. It was snowing lightly, he realized. The street lights reflected on the white, washing the road in an orange glow. The chatter and bickering and laughter from the kids, the drone of the TV in the background and the gentle music of the stereo, which had been turned from the Christmas station at some point and was now playing a Bruce Springsteen song he’d heard before but couldn’t recall the name of, were the only sounds Steve heard as he leaned out the doorway.

Steve turned back inside when Billy shouted for him to _stop letting the heat out_ and that they _don't have all night_.

It was fairly quick from then with the broom and dustpan, and soon enough, nearly all the pine needles had been thrown outside. With explicit instructions from Billy, the kids all shook their hair and clothes free of needles before being allowed into the kitchen to make hot cocoa.

Steve leaned on the back of the sofa and offered some of the candy from the tin to Billy. The chocolate and peppermint blended seamlessly with the cocoa the kids had brought back for them.

They kids settled on and around the couch once again, talking more than actually watching the movie playing, sipping their drinks and throwing marshmallows at each other. 

Steve came to rest on the floor, head leaned against Dustin’s leg that was propped on the coffee table. Billy sat next to Steve, below Max and Eleven. Lucas sat next to Dustin, and Mike and Will on the floor.

Steve could feel his eyelids grow heavy, the warmth of Billy pressed against him, the cocoa wrapped in his hands and Dustin’s leg were acceptably inviting. 

“Tired already? Long day of hanging shit on a house plant, huh?”

Steve sat up as Billy gently poked him in the ribs.

Steve smirked, throwing his legs over Billy’s outstretched ones. “Definitely not the job I work renting movies to you assholes.”

Billy didn’t pull away, not that Steve was expecting him to, but it was still really fucking awesome to know that he was comfortable with Steve’s touch.

They sat like that for a moment, before something began to itch at the corner of Steve’s mind. Fuck it, he wasn't gonna ignore himself tonight. He sat up, placing his hand on Billy’s shoulder and saying earnestly, “I’ve gotta show you something.”

Steve stood up, setting his cocoa down, looking at Billy’s stupefied expression and offered his hand. Billy stared up at him for a moment, heaving a heavy sigh and grasping Steve’s outstretched hand.

“This better be good.”

Steve pulled him up, making no move to withdraw his hand. When he felt Billy grip his tigheter, a wave of joy crashed over him. Thank fuck Dustin was half awake; he couldnt deal with anymore knowing glances.

He did catch a look from Max, though. He decided to pointedly ignore it as he led Billy by the hand to the front door.

Billy stepped into a pair of boots as Steve used his held hand to shove his own on, quickly throwing open the door and pulling Billy into the white night.

“Oh, come on, man, it's cold as shit out here,” Billy bemoaned, trailing behind him.

“Shut up, you’ll be fine.”

Steve pulled him down the front steps and onto the sidewalk, the snow falling heavily down on Hawkins. 

He stilled for a moment. “Listen,” Steve said softly.

Confusion evident on his face, Billy asked, “For what?”

Steve closed his eyes, tipped his head back, feeling the cold flakes fall on his skin, melting just as fast as they landed.

Steve turned to look back at Billy. “It’s so quiet. Bet it doesn’t get like this in Cali.”

Billy huffed out an awed laugh. “Oh my god, Harrington,” Steve squeezed his hand softly, “ _Steve_. No, it doesn’t. It also doesn’t get below freezing.”

Steve shook his head with a soft huff, “Pessimist.”

He pulled Billy closer to his side. “Maybe if you actually bought something warm, like, not a hoodie and a denim jacket,” Steve continued as he heard Billy begin to protest, “You wouldn’t freeze your ass off.”

Billy shrugged and Steve felt the atmosphere around them shift. “Yeah, maybe.”

Steve tilted his head. “You miss it.”

He knew Billy missed California. Fuck, everyone did, he never exchanged the licence plates on his car. Hawkins wasn't his home. Steve didn’t know why the thought tasted so bittersweet. 

Billy looked up from the snow covered ground. 

“I miss the good shit- the sun, the water,” he took a deep breath, his face twisting, “I miss my fucking car.”

Steve grimaced, a pang of remorse shooting through his chest.

“Sorry about that,” he said as he gazed at the streetlights.

Billy shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said easily, “You did what you had to do.”

Steve closed his eyes again, hearing only the quiet in between their breaths.

“Maybe I’ll show you someday,” Billy muttered.

Steve opens his eyes, “Around… California?” 

Billy smiled slightly, “Yeah. Why the hell not, right? Didn’t think I’d ever see it again.”

Steve pulled him closer, just slightly. The bittersweet easing slightly, tasting instead of memories Steve had never lived through.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d love for you to show me around.”

Billy grinned and reached back to pull his hood up again.

Yeah, sure, it was _cold_ . Steve had already pulled the lapels of his own coat tighter around him, but _fuck that_. Steve had gone months without seeing Billy’s hair.

Yeah, sure, maybe it was cold, but Steve could feel the whirlpool rising yet again, threatening to pull Billy down into its depths yet again. Trust was slow, it took time to build, but Steve wasn’t willing to let it take him again so soon.

He reached up and stilled Billy’s hand, pulling the hood down again. He gazed at Steve, eyebrows raised.

“Pine needle,” Steve shrugged.

Billy stared at him for a moment before tipping Steve’s world on its axis yet again when he burst out laughing. Steve stared for a moment, hoping he hadn’t just made an absolute idiot of himself as he laughed nervously along. It wasn’t _that_ funny, or, it wasn’t supposed to be.

“I’m being serious!” Steve exclaimed indignantly, “You still have goddamn pine needles in your perfect fucking-“

He was cut abruptly off by a pair of hands gripping his face. He stilled, eyes going wide as Billy pressed his lips against Steve’s. 

_Close your eyes, dumbass!_

Oh shit, right. He pressed his eyes closed and leaned in closer, kissing him back.

Woah. Kissing Billy back. 

Because Billy had kissed him first.

Steve felt his whole being explode with warmth, and he threaded his own hands into Billy’s curls, pressing his lips against Billy’s with the urgency he felt blooming in his chest.

They pulled apart. Steve gazed into Billy fucking Hargroves blue eyes. Blue like Steve’s old Scoops uniform. Blue like his Camaro. Blue like the California coast. 

“Wow,” Steve said, not registering how lame that was until it fell from his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, Steve.”

“Okay.”

Billy huffed, shoving Steve’s shoulder. “Can we go back inside now, my fucking balls are gonna freeze off.”

Steve laughed, he laughed loud. His heart pounded in his chest, but he didn’t feel sick with nerves like he usually does when someone kisses him. He laughs and laughs and Billy stares at him, a strange delight in his face and Steve’s own infectious laughter. He laughs, and he is sure it will echo off the snow around them forever.

“Jesus, fine. We can go inside before your west coast heart ices over.” Steve had meant for it to be a jest, but it sounded far more endeared than he’d intended. He wasn't upset, though. Billy deserved to hear nice things.

When Steve turned back to the door, he caught a flash of red as a few figures fumbled to close the curtains (yet again, maybe he should give lessons). He sighed heavily and turned to Billy, who looked extremely amused.

Steve huffed out a half groan, half laugh as he grabbed Billy’s frigid hand, exclaiming, “Fucking children,” as he dragged Billy up the steps, feet crunching on a trail of snow covered pine needles.

**Author's Note:**

> the movie the kids are watching is called merry christmas, mr. lawrance ;)
> 
> any feedback is welcome, i'm always trying to improve and it is so so helpful <3


End file.
